All Hallows' Eve
by IDespiseTragedy
Summary: Everyone deserved trick or treat on Halloween, even a prime minister like His Highness Schneizel el Britannia. Yaoi lime alert!


Disclaimer: _Code Geass_ is the property of Sunrise

Author's Note: a Halloween treat for the inspirer of this fic, the almighty _jusrecht_. I shall gladly accept any correction — be it spelling, punctuation, grammatical or misinformation. Again, I use British English for this story.

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**All Hallows' Eve**

Wincing, Kururugi Suzaku closed the lid of the first aid box; he had just finished bandaging himself. Blood was no longer leaking from his wounds — the parting gifts from twenty-three terrorists before they subsequently fell under his hands — but moving with all those bruises was by no means pain-free. Nevertheless, such battle wounds were nothing compared to the responsibilities he had to shoulder; rising to the Knight of One immediately from the Knight of Seven was no easy task, after all.

A soft knock on the door dispersed his contemplation. Who would visit the Knights of Round's quarters at this time of night? Everyone, including his fellow Knights of Round, should be attending the Halloween Ball. Relinquishing the chair, the bare-chested youth approached the door, which was chestnut coloured, just like his hair.

'Your Highness.' Suzaku attempted to mask his voice with calmness and courtesy so that his words sounded like an acknowledgement of the royalty's presence. The flicker of his eyes, ignited by the sight of the prime minister of the Holy Britannian Empire, however, said otherwise.

Schneizel el Britannia wore a smile, wispy, yet regally cordial — _always_ regally cordial enough to the young honorary Britannian since the day the prince expressed his belief that Euphemia li Britannia was not truly guilty for the massacre during the commemoration ceremony for the Specially Administrated Zone.

'Am I allowed to come in, Suzaku-kun?'

'Yes, Sir.' A hasty reply forced its way from the younger man's throat, impeding his otherwise gasp. '_Of course_' and '_forgive my manner_,' he meant to add, but he could never verbalise those words … not when the person he wanted to hear them stood before his eyes with all his grandeur.

What made the second prince of the Holy Britannian Empire abandon such extravagant party Suzaku could not guess. Schneizel was still in his Grim Reaper costume. Trailing dark robe gracefully swept across the floor as its owner's slender limbs strode into the room. In the lamplight, the death scythe glinted jubilantly, as though ready to reap a new victim as soon as the Eleven lowered his guard.

Black.

Even though the point of a Halloween costume was to appear differently than one normally did, Suzaku still found it hard to swallow that the white prince was wearing Zero's colour. But then again, this sort of thing was not _supposed_ to be his concern.

'What can I do for you, Schneizel-sama?'

Words were not the answer. With one elegant sweep, Schneizel pressed his deft fingers against the small of Suzaku's back, effectively narrowing the gap between their faces into one palm breadth.

The knight's jaw clenched. He couldn't help it; the prince was too close, way too close.

_Grim Reapers are meant to reap souls, not to steal hearts!_

The prince must have noticed the passion swirling in the younger man's eyes, for he remarked, 'There is no need to be too reserved; this is not even our first time.'

True enough. On the same day as when he struck a deal with this prince to be the Knight of One in exchange for assassinating Charles zi Britannia, Schneizel halted him, clutching him by the forearm. Perhaps it was the desire to conquer such promising individual. Perhaps it was the temporary joy of finding a partner in crime. Or perhaps it was just the heat of the moment. Whatever it was, despite the surprise and confusion, there was no resistance when the blond tilted the brunet's chin to meet his own and then their attire pooled in fusion on the cold marble floor.

Rape was no stranger to soldiers, and he was a soldier — an Honorary Britannian, nonetheless an Eleven still, mingling with the native Britannians in the army. But this… this was no rape; his years of experience in the soldier barrack told him that. For what sort of rape would allow the seducer to place his lips so softly against his skin? What sort of rape would allow the seducer to gaze at him so intensely as though there had been nothing else in the world that he desired more than Kururugi Suzaku's whole being? What sort of rape would allow the seducer to hold him so tenderly as though to share the pain? And, most importantly, could something even be considered as rape when the supposedly victim was lacking any will to resist?

Schneizel el Britannia was the only one who had seen through Lelouch's Geass long before he even knew what a Geass was. He was the one of the rare believers of dear Euphie's innocence. He was the one stronghold to outdo Zero in the field of strategy. If it were with this man, Suzaku knew, there was still hope to secure Japan's future. It was for this reason that he had proposed the crazy deal with the prince in the first place. He just had not realised before that he saw more in Schneizel than these and the first kiss they shared became the key to open his door of realisation.

Had he truly regarded the second prince as a mere ladder to climb while pursuing his own ambition, surely it wouldn't have mattered whether he loved the view each time he happened to look at the prince's direction. Neither should have it mattered whether he felt comfortable when the prince adjusted his rhythm to match Suzaku's breathing upon the union of their tangled limbs. But these _did_ matter: Suzaku even found himself touching — no, clinging to — the older man. Repeatedly.

The mahogany escritoire groaned under his weight, but the desk owner's mind was too preoccupied to care for such triviality: On the day he became an emperor, the Knight of One would officially be his knight — in public _and_ private matters.

The Britannian prime minister left one last peck on the forehead before letting him go. Notwithstanding, this can be easily assumed as something none other than princely grace, since the mention of this incident never escaped from either's lips the next time they saw each other again.

Until now.

The current Schneizel did not rush. Instead, he paid attention to the bandages on Suzaku's lower chest. Carefully, teasingly, seductively, the prince took off the white fabric that covered the knight's skin. Since these bandages were wrapped around Suzaku's body, while unwrapping them, Schneizel had all the opportunity he needed to embrace the flustered teen. The knight in question tried his best not to act agitated; even so, the annoyance of getting his work undone was reflected in his eyes, drawing another smile on the prince's face.

As the Britannian brought the tip of the bandage strip onto his mouth and kissed it slowly, savouring Suzaku's scent that lingered on it, the Eleven could only shiver in silence.

'What wind has brought you here, o living mummy from Japan?'

No matter how they looked at it, calling Suzaku a mummy wan an exaggeration — his body was not wrapped in _that_ many places. However, as lucidly intended by the speaker, the end of Schneizel's sentence caught his attention more: the Britannian prime minister called his country by its appropriate name. Suzaku's fists tightened: his revered fatherland's name did not exist for the purpose of seduction.

Another simper adorned Schneizel's countenance at his latest achievement, for the Knight of One seemed even more adorable in his irate state.

'If there is nothing crucial to Britannia's wellbeing, I don't see why _Your Highness_ should be here while the other royal prince and princesses are attending the Halloween Ball,' he spoke with averted gaze. A soldier was trained to obey his superior, but he didn't mind if Schneizel were to be offended. The blond might be a veteran politician and a brilliant contriver, but his eighteen-year-old self, contrarily, was a mere hot-blooded youth.

'It never occurred to my mind that you value Britannia's wellbeing this highly,' Schneizel did not cede his beguiling smile, 'Dare I hope that there is still a room in your heart to care about a Britannian citizen's wellbeing, in addition?'

'No,' answered the teenager defiantly, his gaze still averted from his speaking adversary's eyes. Something inside him started to wish that the prince had not barged into the room while he was half-naked. Not ready. Vulnerable.

Yet, Schneizel el Britannia was not the kind of man who would take 'no' as an answer. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against the younger man's chin. Subconsciously, the brunet paused breathing the moment their skin collided, but the prince refused to give up his pursue. He kissed and kissed that chin until the knight before him was out of breath and began to struggle for air.

Only then the older man resumed his question, 'Not even a little?'

'No,' panted the knight, vexed by the prince's precise timing to make him answer while he was drawing breath: his voice sounded almost … erotic.

'Just a tiny bit?'

'No.' This time, Suzaku managed to bring up a firmer reply. A tinge of worry colourised his tone, but the answer did not waver.

'Even _if_ I begged you?'

'No.' _Schneizel el Britannia doesn't beg; he _commands_._

'Do you want me to leave?'

'No.'

Then, Suzaku's eyes widened as he realised his fatal mistake.

'Yes!'

Too late! Schneizel did not bother to conceal his triumphant smile as he proceeded to plant his next kiss on the knight's lips. _Properly_.

Schneizel's tongue had decreed peace treaties between many countries. By its command, too, had countless war casualties lain on the face of earth. Today, through its intrusion into the small gap formed by Suzaku's initially unwelcoming lips, the Eleven lost every bit of the little sanity he had.

By the time the royal lips found their way along the track of Suzaku's jawline, the liberation of Japan was forgotten. By the time Schneizel's teeth gently raked the knight's earlobe, the bedroom and the rest of the world vanished from existence.

It was then the Honorary Britannian heard a tantalisingly balmy whisper, 'May I hold you tonight?'

_This is not a damn fair play!_

Suzaku closed his eyes in defeat. Would Schneizel really let him go if he said no again? He would not risk it. He wanted him. He wanted him as much as he _needed_ the older man. He wanted him in spite of his current indignation, and status quo had nothing to do with this. He wanted him more than pride, duty and honour allowed him to.

Their previous — and first — copulation was barely more than a quickie done on the desk. Given the absence of any finesse, it was not unjustified to say that Suzaku did not remember the details of how they had assumed such position. Their present intercourse, on the contrary, was done with further elaboration. Still, the brunet was unable to deny that he could not remember — or did not realise, to be more accurate — what exactly the prince did to make him allow himself to be led to bed.

All he knew was the pale moonlight perforated through the glass window, outlining Schneizel's exquisite curvatures; the intense gaze from a pair of royal purple eyes; and the insane frictional heat induced by the much desired body. Perhaps what old legends claimed — regarding the mystic power of moon — was true. Otherwise, what explanation could hold against the trance of oblivion he was under?

When senses managed to return to him, the brunet found himself splayed by the legs; the prince's chiselled torso occupied the area in-between them with hands vellicating every inch of his bare skin. Carefully angling his hips, the Britannian made his entry, pushing himself against the tightness of the knight's aperture.

_A soldier doesn't moan_, the Eleven mentally dictated.

The first few thrusts were enough to bring Suzaku to grip the bed sheet. By instinct, his back arched, causing his derrière to sink even deeper into the mattress. With one hand, Schneizel caught him by the hip, tilting the teen's lower half to meet his own. With his other hand, Schneizel held his partner by the hand with intertwining finger, tacitly urging Suzaku to trust him more, to hold onto him and not to the uncaring bed sheet.

_A soldier doesn't moan!_

Schneizel lowered his torso to lie atop Suzaku's, taking an extra care as not to press the wounds. His nether region slid deeper inside the boy. The latter turned sideways with both eyes shut; the older man's face was far too close. But as the golden-haired prince shifted to kiss him, the majestic hair fell delicately upon his forehead; each gold strand caressed him with gentleness he had secretly pining for.

_A. Soldier. Doesn't. Moan._

The ragged breathing produced by Suzaku's incessantly inflating and deflating diaphragm was more than enough to show Schneizel how the adolescent was craving for his touch — the conscience of a soldier, or perhaps of a knight, prevented the younger man to encircle his arms around his partner's back. His conscience did not, however, extend as far as his legs; the tug on the blond's rear end by the brunet's trembling ankles verified this.

_Asoldierdoesn't… _'Ahh!'

It was not the pain; Kururugi Suzaku had undergone several different sorts of far worse pain than this. But if it wasn't the pain, it could only mean…

Suzaku did not want to think about it — _if only_ he could.

_This is to be our last time_, the Knight of One convinced himself inwardly, unknowing that his own actions were going to keep contradicting this statement for years to come.

###

'Your Highness, we have arrived at Pendragon.' Kanon Maldini's tender voice roused Schneizel from his sleep.

As the eyelids opening to reveal a pair of amethyst orbs, the interior of Damocles swam back into focus. The passenger straightened his back from the headrest of the aircraft seat, making himself more presentable in the presence of his attaché. The auburn-haired younger man stood before him with a raised gaze that was a little too high than what propriety demanded when one was speaking to a royalty. The prince immediately cognised that the attentive assistant deliberately avoided staring at his lower half, owing to the protuberance that even the finest material of his trousers failed to conceal.

'Thank you, Kanon. Would you care to arrange an appointment with the Chinese Federations?'

'With pleasure, Sir.' The earl bowed and excused himself.

The second prince of the Holy Britannian Empire heaved an inaudible sigh. He cast a penetrating look at the window, through which the towering figure of the Aries Palace and its vicinity had come into view. He had coveted the Lancelot Albion's pilot for months now, but there were matters to settle before he could hold him in his arms in reality.

Next, he rose from his seat and proceeded to the lavatory. Peasants or prime ministers_, _the resistless grasp of wet dream did not discriminate_._

THE END


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